


Absent Touches

by RogueRosencrantz



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Death, Depression, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4488552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueRosencrantz/pseuds/RogueRosencrantz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benvolio Montague walks the streets of Verona at night, haunted by memories of the time before tragedy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absent Touches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nodeadhotspurjokes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nodeadhotspurjokes/gifts).



> A tumblr prompt from user nodeadhotspurjokes  
> Bencutio - Absent touches/kisses

Absent Touches

 

It was unseasonably cold in Verona. It had been three days since the great tragedy, and members of the three greatest houses were robed in black. Two young men, promising citizens, practically children had met their end. The youngest victims to be robbed of their lives in this feud yet. It made no sense. Benvolio shivered under the threadbare cover that would usually serve well in the heat of Verona’s summer. He was tired. He was alone. He wasn’t used to it, and he hated it. It must be nice being dead and buried he thought. Nothing to worry about forever. No one to miss. No guilt in leaving anyone behind. Always surrounded tightly by dirt, an embrace to last until you decomposed and became part of the embrace yourself.

Benvolio looked over at the lit-up numbers on the digital alarm next to his bed. Three thirty-four in the morning. Well, it’s not like he would sleep, whether he stayed in bed or not. He stood up quietly, turned off the alarm that had been set in a spark of hope that he’d sleep tonight, and stepped quietly across the room towards his shoes. He crept around a creaky floorboard, so as not to wake Friar Lawrence in the room next door. The friar had swept him away three days ago. He hadn’t stopped crying since his interview with Escalus, when he’d had to recount everything. Apparently, Escalus had thought it better that Benvolio go to the friar rather than his distraught aunt. Or that was what Benvolio had understood of the discussion he’d had with Escalus a day later. At any rate, Benvolio did not want to wake the friar. A walk would help, as much as anything could help anyway.

He slipped on his shoes and looked briefly at the jacket hung next to the door before leaving his room and walking out the door to the street. That had been Mercutio’s jacket. He’d insisted that Ben borrow it for a party they’d gone to, and he’d forgotten to get it back. The cold air bit at Ben’s exposed skin, raising goosebumps immediately. It was dead dark outside and no one was stirring. A breeze blew as Benvolio began to walk. He felt it brush his hand and his breath caught in his throat. He could remember warmer days. He could remember the sun beating down on their heads and necks as they walked together, their hands occasionally brushing as they walked: Ben had never been able to tell if Mercutio had made their hands touch on purpose. If no one else was around, sometimes their fingers would intertwine, their palms pressed together in a sort of holy kiss. Sometimes they would duck into that alley for a quick exchange of words and lips. The kisses had to be quick and secretive, at least out in the light of day. He could still feel the warmth of Mercutio’s breath on his lips-- but a breeze blew and the memory was gone.

Benvolio stopped walking and looked up. He’d come to the Escalus estate without thinking about it. He saw a light on in what he knew to be the prince’s study. But there was no need to knock. Benvolio remembered a whisper in his ear after the interview. He was always welcome to the prince’s home, where Mercutio had lived. Benvolio went to the door, reached into the plant on the left and pulled out the spare key. It was where Mercutio had always left it. Ben unlocked the door quietly and stepped inside. The entry hall was dark and cool and familiar enough. How many times had he and Mercutio stumbled down this hall to Mercutio’s room, the third door on the left. They were well enough practiced at finding it in the dark, feeling their way along, though they rarely were dedicating their entire attention to finding the room -- mostly they were distracted by each other, hands in each other’s hair or on each other’s face. He walked alone now.

Benvolio stepped into Mercutio’s room. It smelled like him. But for how long? How long would the room itself remember the one who slept there? Not long enough, Ben decided as he sank down onto the bed. The way the bed gave way under him was familiar. He and Mercutio had sat on this bed forever ago. Many forevers ago. Benvolio could remember Mercutio’s hand on his chest, ever so gently pushing him back as they kissed. The place that hand had sat was empty now. He could feel the hole inside of him growing every second Mercutio was gone, the hole that tore Benvolio’s chest further and further as it slowly grew.

He curled up in the bed. The scent of Mercutio embraced him. He could just imagine Mercutio’s arms around him. He wanted to sleep like this. He wanted to sleep next to Mercutio just one more time. It was too much. How was he supposed to get used to this? A life without the people he loved the most. Was it even worth calling something so empty life? He’d asked God these questions over and over again for three days. There had been no response. That’s what you get when you talk to no one, he had thought.

 

 


End file.
